Impossible
by beckywiththecupoftea
Summary: The impossible becomes possible for the Turners - but the road to true love never did run smooth. Not everyone is as delighted by the prospect of a new baby as Shelagh, Patrick, Tim and Angela. Turnadette, set in the aftermath of S5
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: These characters do not belong to me! I've had this idea for a while: I intend to continue it if people enjoy it. Please favourite and/or review if you did enjoy it.**

 ****"So, when were you planning to tell me ?"

Timothy Turner leant forward on his elbows, breaking the comfortable silence that surrounded the breakfast table. The effect his words had was remarkable. Shelagh Turner paused suddenly in her preparation of Angela's breakfast, spilling milk all over the stacks of plates in the sink, while her husband, who was caught in the act of sitting down, almost fell off of his chair. Only Angela was unaffected, cooing to herself and gracing her brother with an angelic smile that, it has to be said, was very rarely given in the mornings. Tim rattled on.

"See, it's been over a week since I noticed. And I obviously wanted to give you two space, but both of you should naturally know by now – the trained eye and all that. So I was just wondering why I haven't been informed. Surely I'm mature enough?"

Tim leant back in his chair, rather proud of that little speech and blissfully unaware of the chaos he had caused with his parents.

"I…I'm sorry dear, what on earth do you mean?" Shelagh couldn't figure out what Tim was talking about. She moved slowly to sit down, her mind racing and yet coming up with no possible solutions. The trained eye? That made no sense…

On the opposite side of the table, Patrick was filled with visions of countless cigarettes smoked during that first outpouring of news about Thalidomide. He'd been feeling guilty for weeks about the number he'd smoked during that dark week, and the brief but brutal breaking of the promise he'd made to his son. Despite this scenario not fitting to Tim's speech, or his congratulatory tone of voice, this was the conclusion Patrick's mind first jumped to. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up (Shelagh found this trait of his adorable, as it always made him look slightly shocked and quite frankly, pretty funny) and sighed.

Tim gazed from one of his parents to the other, trying to discover the truth of the matter. His mother looked utterly lost at sea, while his father's facial expression did not indicate the good news Tim was referring to. It was incomprehensible that they did not know. And yet… He grinned to himself, grabbing his bag from the door and giving both Shelagh and Patrick a swift hug. He then moved to Angela, kissing the top of her head and whispering:

"Our parents can be real idiots, can't they?"

Angela giggled (she had just discovered the word 'idiot', much to the dismay of her parents and the delight of her older brother). Patrick raised an eyebrow, but was too absorbed in trying to work out the riddle in Tim's words to react properly. Shelagh appeared to be so intent on staring at the table that she hadn't heard his words; no scolding for the use of 'idiot' around Angela seemed forthcoming.

Tim reached the door. He turned and cleared his throat, pleased to see he had the attention of both his parents. He took a deep breath.

"Well, I do hope you will have figured it out when I return from school. You are a doctor and a midwife after all. The symptoms have rather been staring us in th face " With these illuminating words, he grabbed his hat and swung out of the door, shaking his head at the utter stupidity of adults. Leaving his parents to stare at each other in shock.

"Doctor," Shelagh whispered, at the same time Patrick whispered 'Midwife." Their eyes met, and each knew the other was thinking the same thought. Pregnant. Surely...

"How does Tim know?" Patrick gazed around the room frantically, almost as if trying to spot a poster proclaiming the news his son claimed to have knowledge of. He tried to think of symptoms, of signs, of anything that could give him proof. He muttered under his breath, cursing himself for not being too attentive to his wife over the last month. Tim had mentioned she felt sick a couple of nights last week, but he hadn't thought it implied anything bigger...

Meanwhile, Shelagh was dangerously quiet. All she could think of was the word impossible, spinning around and around and around in her head. Impossible. They had said that. That meant definite, didn't it? Meant there was no chance at all? She swayed, reaching out for support, and found Patrick's hand as he gently pulled her to lean against him, stroking her hair.

"Did you have any idea?" he murmured, after a pause. She shook her head, and she knew that he too had been stunned by Timothy's revelation.

"How?"

Shelagh knew that her husband wasn't addressing her, but the world in general, the diagnosis, the TB even. Her thoughts echoed her husband. How? She didn't want to believe, didn't want to set herself up for heartbreak, but even as her hands moved to her stomach she knew. She knew what the sudden bouts of nausea meant that she had been so careful to hide from Patrick so he didn't worry. She knew what the dizziness meant that had often left Tim to take care of his younger sister while Patrick had spent hours and hours at the surgery, tormenting himself over Thalidomide. She knew what the frequent rushing to the toilet meant that she had put down to drinking too much tea, but Tim obviously had not. They would have noticed, would have known, if it wasn't for that blasted diagnosis. Impossible.

"I think we should call someone from Nonnatus House, dear. Preferably Trixie" Shelagh smiled up at Patrick, and when he nodded and smiled back, it was as if everything that was wrong in her world was made right again.

"How on earth didn't we notice?" His voice had lost the fear and confusion of only five minutes ago. Now it was filled with wonder, excitement and nervousness. He, _they,_ couldn't be let down again.

The silence following his question was interrupted by a cry of 'Mummy!' and both Shelagh and Patrick grinned.

"There is your answer." Shelagh smiled, and got up to tend to her daughter slowly, giggling at Patrick. "I can see you trying to evaluate me there Dr Turner! I thought I asked you to call Trixie."

"Alright ma'am. I do hope we don't get six months of this bossiness," Patrick teased, his eyes more alight at this good news than Shelagh had seen them in the past month.

"I'll take as many months of whatever I can get." She whispered the words, feeling the tone of their conversation change and shaking as she felt his arms steady her. "I want this to be true so badly Patrick."

He kissed her gently. "I know darling. I know" They stayed in silence for a moment, each safe in each other's arms. Shelagh never wanted to move, not from this warm kitchen with the spilled milk in the sink and a sleepy daughter and the best husband in the world. The aforementioned husband felt rather the same.

Patrick broke the moment first. "I should go love. Not only do I have patients to serve, if we don't get confirmation from at least one midwife by Tim's return, he'll give up on us as medical professionals entirely!" She smiled, leaning against him for one more precious moment, before watching him move to the phone, laughing softly.

Shelagh smiled after him. Impossible indeed. She rested her hands lightly on her stomach, feeling what she knew was an almost imperceptible bump. The Turners would show them exactly how impossible this was.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Continued illness brings you an early new chapter; thank you guys so much for the lovely reviews both on here and on tumblr, its much appreciated. Enjoy!**

There were footsteps on the stairs. Shelagh, perched on the edge of the bed, hugged Angela tightly and stared at the door, trying to curb her nerves. Everyone at Nonnatus House knew the Turners kept their spare key in the plant pot which was half hidden in the wall next to the front door, and Shelagh knew the person steadily moving closer to her door was one of the midwives who Patrick had called. So why was she so scared? Could it be a fear that this wasn't the pregnancy Tim had predicted, but something more serious? Then, as there was a gentle tap on their bedroom door, she realised the root of the twisting fear in her heart. The ex-midwife and nurse was scared of being the patient. Though a familiar scene, the view from this position was entirely unknown territory.

"Your husband ordered a Nurse Franklin, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me." The door swung open to reveal a tall, grinning midwife with shining red hair swept up in a bun and eyes brimming with kindness that banished all of Shelagh's fears.

"Nurse Mount... Patsy!" The two women met each other's gaze, and each was immediately struck by the sheer strangeness of this house call. There was a silence, both patient and midwife struggling to remain professional. Patsy broke first, rushing to Shelagh and Angela, all business-like front gone – well, gone as much as it was possible for her. Instead, a familiar grin patients rarely saw greeted Shelagh, and they both giggled as if they were excited schoolgirls rather than a pair of medical professionals.

"Dr Turner filled me in on this morning's events. Technically Nurse Crane was on call, but she offered to let me come instead, as none of us could find Trixie anywhere and I was desperate to offer my congratulations. Oh Shelagh, this is so wonderful!" Patsy broke off, reaching out and stroking Angela's curls, earning herself a smile.

Shelagh smiled, blushing slightly. "We'll have to see if we're correct with the...diagnosis, before all of this celebration Patsy. But, thank you."

Patsy lifted Angela off the bed, placating her with a sweet that appeared in her hand as if by magic, before briskly turning back to her brown bag. "Let's get on with this then Mrs Turner. Back on the bed with you." The midwife turned, her sunny smile contrasting with her business-like tone. "And lets have as little giggling from both of us as possible."

Ten minutes and a lot of laughs later, Patsy was helping Shelagh sit up on the bed. "I think we can both agree that was strange to say the least: probably more so for you than for me!" Shelagh had to agree with this statement, although she had discovered Patsy's nursing style suited her down to the ground. And one look at the face of said nurse informed her this would be useful information to have over the next seven or so months.

"You're around 19 weeks I'd say Shelagh."

19 weeks. Already! That did explain how Tim had noticed, and why he was convinced his parents already knew. 19 weeks… Shelagh moved her hand down to her stomach in wonder, almost forgetting the presence of Patsy in the room. This time when her head spun, it was with hopes and plans and ideas, a big clutter of happiness in such an organised mind.

Patsy waited. Let her have her moment. Ordinarily, she would have hurried on with her examination and her house calls, as was her routine, but this was Shelagh. Shelagh, who'd let her know through remarks, gifts and smiles that she knew about Delia, and supported them. Odd really, that the first to acknowledge it (Patsy knew Trixie was more than aware – but she just left them to it) was someone out of Nonnatus House. An ex-nun, in fact. But as a treasured handwritten note from the dark days of Delia's accident in her drawer confirmed, the woman sitting on the bed in front of her believed that "love is love". Besides, Shelagh Turner gave so so much, Patsy figured she deserved her own little new happiness as much as anyone did. Which was why she hated what she was about to do.

"Mrs – sorry, force of habit – Shelagh. You are aware that the effects of your TB may mean this pregnancy could be dangerous. More for you than the baby I would say."

Seeing a cloud pass over the other woman's features, Patsy reached out a hand. "The thing I'd normally advise would simply be more frequent check-ups for now. Luckily, you're married to a doctor."

Shelagh nodded and forced a smile. She wouldn't let the TB ruin anything else for her, especially not this. She bent down to pick up Angela for a cuddle, rocking her back and forth gently while wondering if Patrick had thought of the TB. He probably had, but hadn't wanted to ruin the first special morning. But Shelagh knew that everything would be okay, as she kissed her daughter's head. It had to be.

Pasty swallowed; she hated being the bringer of bad news, especially to a friend. She knew just how much Shelagh had longed for this day. Fighting to remain calm and professional, she leant in, hugged her and whispered: "Anything you need, any troubles, I'll be there Shelagh. Doesn't matter if you're not on schedule, or it's my day off, or I'm meant to be on my rounds. Anything. Delia gives her love."

And with that rather unusual goodbye, Patsy showed herself out, leaving a blushing but oh so grateful Shelagh on the bed behind her.

Later that evening, Patrick returned home to find Angela in bed, Shelagh curled up asleep under a blanket on the couch, and Tim cross legged at her feet devouring medical journals. "19 weeks." Tim called by way of greeting. "I had guessed more around 21, but you know. Close enough."

Patrick threw back "Hello to you too," automatically, before freezing in the doorway as he fully absorbed Tim's words. Then, slowly, he tiptoed into the room, causing Tim to grin as he laid his article aside.

"You needn't tiptoe Dad: Mum's not going to wake in a hurry. She wore herself out with excitement. And stressing about what people will think. And about the TB." Worry tinged Tim's words, even as he tried to act nonchalant. Patrick sat on the arm of the couch, stroking Shelagh's hair gently and cursing himself for not thinking of the TB. But... 19 weeks! It was confirmed!

"Are you happy Tim?"

In his head, Tim sorted through plans of making new games, teaching new rude words, bossing around a new sibling. He thought of pushchairs and baby food and extra pocket money. Wisely, all he said out loud was: "Yes." And he meant it.

Patrick pulled him in for a hug, feeling like the luckiest and happiest man alive. "Good. Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/ N: Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! Here we have a little bit of fluff - the relative calm before the storm. Enjoy!**

The early morning sun danced on the bed covers, illuminating the sleeping intertwined couple in the dark room. Patrick's hand was resting lightly on Shelagh's stomach, while her head was resting on his shoulder, wavy light brown hair spilling loose across his chest. Her legs were curled up on top of his outstretched ones, and the only sound was the deep breath of sleep, peaceful in the soft light of dawn.

Shelagh woke first, her hand moving down to cover her husband's over her now more noticeable baby bump, and sighed contently. At that moment, if someone asked her to define happiness, it would be there, feeling the warmth of Patrick as he lay next to her.

The slight pressure of her hand over his woke Dr Turner, who blinked and then smiled sleepily, rolling onto his side to face his wife and accidentally tipping her loose hair in her face in the process. He laughed softly at her disgruntled expression, brushing back her hair and kissing her nose, watching it scrunch up adorably.

"Did our little dancer wake you?" he whispered. Shelagh was now around 21 weeks pregnant, and she first felt their baby kick the previous week, when she was at work. She had rushed into Patrick's office, her hair unravelling from its usual neat style, and when Patrick had felt his child move, he wore an elated expression Shelagh had never seen before. That evening, Tim had commented on his sibling's unusually rhythmic movements, and ever since the Turners had taken to calling the new baby 'little dancer'. However, along with the kicking came the bump; it was almost impossible to hide any more without wearing extremely baggy clothes. The real reason Shelagh had woken up earlier than usual was because today, the Turners were going to Nonnatus House to tell everyone about the pregnancy.

Shelagh shook her head, curling into her husband's side as he wrapped an arm around her. "Just nervous...about today." Patrick sighed. Sister Julienne, he had no doubt, was the cause of this worrying. He couldn't think of anyone else who might take it at all badly. Shelagh had convinced herself that she was, in some mysterious way, betraying Sister Julienne, and Patrick had noticed the Sister often acted as if she had forgotten his wife was no longer a nun. They had all felt the loss of Sister Evangelina – Patrick had often woken up to the sounds of Shelagh sobbing in the darkness, and fallen back to sleep with her shaking in his arms – but Sister Julienne had lost the only other experienced and capable nun to aid her with the running of the Order. Sister Mary Cynthia was well meaning, but inexperienced, and Sister Winifred too often let her judgement cloud her work. But Shelagh... He knew Sister Julienne viewed her reasons for leaving the Order as selfish, and resented her absence especially at this time of need. This pregnancy was just going to drive it home that Shelagh wasn't there just for Sister Julienne any more.

"Darling, it'll be fine." Patrick reassured her gently. "They all love you, they all love me more..." he teased, and grinned as she swatted him lightly. He took hold of her hand and kissed its palm, raising an eyebrow. Shelagh blushed furiously, hiding her face in his chest as she instantly got what he was referring to.

"Even back then," he murmured, teasingly. "Even then, they all loved you." He put his arm around her, and they stayed like that for a precious moment. Then Shelagh groaned, and hauled herself out of bed; they had to be at Nonnatus House for lunch, and goodness knew, Tim would take all morning to get ready. She decided to leave Angela to Patrick – she wasn't sure her nerves could take an excited daughter today.

Half past eleven came, and finally everyone was just about ready to go. Shelagh and Patrick met each other's gaze, and he rested his hand on her bump (which was, for now, hidden under a coat) and kissed her, earning a groan from Tim, who as predicted had spent most of the morning in his room.

Patrick smiled at her. "Are you ready, Shelagh?" She took a deep breath. Was she? Honestly, she had no idea.

Patsy greeted them at the door, and it was a testament to her character that she didn't blurt out the news to the assembled nurses (plus Sisters Mary Cynthia and Winifred) the moment Shelagh walked in. Barbara offered to take her coat, and Shelagh shared a nervous glance with her husband, who was holding Angela; this was it. She had avoided most of them for the past couple of weeks, but they were all trained midwives, and her pregnancy was hardly easy to miss now. As she went to take off her coat, she glanced at Patsy. The midwife mouthed 'You got this!' while Delia who was standing next to her gave Shelagh a thumbs up. Slowly, she took off her coat, handed it to Barbara and moved to stand next to Patrick, who squeezed her hand.

It took Trixie less than a second. "Shelagh! Oh my goodness! Congratulations!" The blonde rushed to hug her, grinning from ear to ear, before grinning up at Dr Turner. Although Sister Winifred looked a little confused, Sister Mary Cynthia's eyes sparkled as she realised.

"Oh Shelagh. I'm so happy for you!"

This, it seemed, was when it clicked for Sister Winifred, who simply uttered "Oh my... That's wonderful!" In fairness, Patrick thought, the Sister barely knew Shelagh as she rarely worked with her and the two of them been at Nonnatus at entirely different times.

Phyllis then stepped forward, and surprised everyone by hugging Shelagh, and whispering "Good on you kid." She then stepped back, and glanced at Patrick and Tim. "You two better look after her, mind." They both nodded quickly, the identical expressions of fear on each of their faces causing a rather embarrassed Shelagh to laugh.

"Thank you, Nurse Crane. Well, thank you everyone." This was about all she could manage by way of speech, clinging onto Patrick's hand like it was a float device and she was drowning in a sea of well wishes. Trixie, meanwhile, bounced on the balls of her feet, firing questions with as much eagerness as if she was the one expecting the baby.

"When did you find out? How far along are you? Who's your midwife?"

Tim cleared his throat, causing his father to groan and his mother to go an even brighter shade of red. "They found out 2 weeks ago, but I'd known for ages and thought they did too, which you may want to consider when you next call on them for medical help and-"

Patrick interrupted with a swift "Thank you Tim," as everyone laughed and Tim looked mightily offended. Patrick pulled his wife close gently, stroking her hair and resting his hand over hers on her baby bump. She leant against him, grateful for the support, and the knowledge that he was right there beside her.

Trixie sighed impatiently. "As adorable as you two are, you still haven't answered my questions!"

Patsy spoke from behind her. "She is around 21 weeks now. To answer your other question, I'm her midwife."

This statement caused uproar among the nurses. Patrick, it seemed, was right when he said they all loved her; it soon turned into a competition over just who would be Shelagh's midwife. Sister Mary Cynthia quietly made the point that she understood Shelagh's life both as a nun and as a nurse, while Sister Winifred felt that she should put in that she "thought Mrs Turner quite wonderful."

Patsy argued her case with passion and clarity, adding at the end that she was sure Delia would come along to help, a point that Delia agreed on, while Phyllis brought up her capability and a seemingly endless list of past experience. Trixie's point was so vehement and her style of address so vigorous that Patrick actually put a protective arm in front of his wife, although whether that was strictly necessary was debatable. Finally, it seemed everyone who wanted to had argued their case. Shelagh held up a hand, looking weary.

"Okay, okay. I love you all, and I'm sure you can all pop in to see me and play your part," Patrick put his head in his hands, envisioning queues of nuns and midwifes outside their door. "But I do hope you will all forgive me if I pick Patsy... I mean, Nurse Mount." The two smiled at each other. "I think we suit each other perfectly."

Patrick sighed, handing Angela to an unimpressed Tim and supporting Shelagh, who looked ready to collapse. "Now we have that sorted, can we please go and sit down? She really shouldn't be standing for this long in her condition."

"Her condition? My child, whatever is wrong?" The voice came from behind them, yet as Shelagh turned she knew exactly who'd she see. The speaker was Sister Monica Joan, her features laced with worry and confusion. Next to her, with an expression on her face that made Shelagh feel sick, was Sister Julienne.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Here we go, a bit of angst now I'm afraid. Thank you for reading, and being so kind!**

Patrick felt Shelagh stiffen in his arms as silence fell, and one glance at Sister Julienne told him the nun knew exactly which 'condition' he had been referring to. For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock, the whispering of Tim to Angela and the clattering of Barbara as she got ready to go (the phone had rung while the nurses were arguing over the position of Shelagh's midwife, and as she was first on call, she had missed the awkward entrance of Sister Julienne).Everyone felt compelled to silence, though most of them had only a faint idea of Shelagh's nervousness around Sister Julienne and the nun's resentment of Shelagh's new life. No one quite knew where to look. Patrick finally broke the deafening quiet.

"We're happy to discuss the situation, but Shelagh needs to sit down." His voice conveyed the exact opposite of happiness, and it took Patsy one glance at the couple's faces before she grabbed Delia's arm and led everyone through to the dining room, Patrick half-carrying Shelagh. Trixie moved to catch up with them.

"Is everything okay?" She whispered, looking concerned, and putting an arm around Shelagh to help her into her chair. "What on earth's going on?"

"Shelagh's just been on her feet too long. As for what happened back there..." Patrick shrugged, taking his seat next to Shelagh, and pulling Angela onto his lap gently, causing her to squeal "Daddy!" in excitement. Tim glanced at his parents worriedly, before meeting Patsy's concerned gaze. He shrugged, mirroring his father's gesture.

Sister Julienne's chair screeched as she sat down, and as she said grace Shelagh's hands shook. The nun finished speaking and picked up her fork, her face cast in shadows and impossible to read. In contrast, Shelagh's face was bathed in light, her worry and exhaustion easy to read. Patrick swallowed.

"Shelagh and I owe some of you an explanation." He began to explain about the pregnancy, and all that had transpired outside in the hallway, all the while watching Sister Julienne's face. "Do you suppose Mrs B would be amiable to us having some extra cake to celebrate this momentous occasion? Oh! I shall have to check my charts to determine the gender!" Sister Monica Joan clapped her hands in utter glee before reaching across an uncomfortable looking Trixie, causing Shelagh to giggle.

"I'm glad someone is happy." Patrick muttered, earning a hand squeeze from Shelagh and a disapproving look from Sister Julienne, who was close enough to Patrick to hear his words.

It was painfully obvious to everyone around the table that Sister Julienne was the only one who had not congratulated the couple. They all continued to eat in silence, the only interruption coming from Angela, who was busy informing her brother about the colour of everything in the room. But, as was shown when Angela pointed to the bowl of blueberries and cried out 'Yew wow!" happily and Tim did not correct her, even he was more focused on the tense silence. Nurse Crane eventually broke it, her words laced with anger.

"Sister Julienne, do you not have anything at all to say to Mrs Turner and the doctor?" Phyllis then gave Shelagh a small smile, before turning her gaze back to Sister Julienne. Patrick gazed at her too, at the face that looked more like a mask, and willed her to say something, anything, nice. This was hurting his wife, he knew, and he wished she would lay aside this petty selfish grudge. He wondered now, staring at her, if she was this bitter because in Shelagh, she saw the pleasant path she could have walked down, but had chosen to leave behind. As she cleared her throat, he was jolted back to the present.

"Of course I do. I offer them my warmest congratulations." The Turners only had to look around the table to see that no one was fooled by this, not even Tim bouncing Angela on his knee to make her giggle, or Sister Monica Joan who had managed to fit an entire slice of chocolate cake into her mouth at once. Patrick leant forward, with an expression on his face that made Tim wince and Shelagh bite her lip – this was an expression that both had learned was a sign to retreat to another room quickly.

"Pardon me, Sister," he began, in a way that sounded as if asking for pardon was physically hurting him. "But you don't exactly sound happy. Shelagh cares greatly for your opinion, as I do for honesty, and I was wondering if there's anything we have done to make you unhappy."

Sister Julienne smiled a smile that carried no joy. "No, no. I'm just feeling rather out of sorts today."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. Sister Julienne flushed, and tried to recover her composure and form. "Honestly, Shelagh dear, I am wonderfully happy. I...it..." She struggled for words. "It will be lovely for you to have a real child."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had said the wrong thing. Shelagh's fork fell from her hand with a clatter, and she pushed her chair away from the table, her hand over her mouth. She had tried. She had tried so hard to be a good mother to Tim and Angela, to be a proper mother. And here was how they all thought of her. She couldn't look at anyone's faces, afraid of the judgement she might she there, and she could hear Patrick's voice, but the words were unclear and indecipherable, as if coming from a long distance. Slowly, unsteadily, she stood up, fighting the tears that that one small sentence brought. She swayed on her feet for a minute, before fleeing from the room and running, running, running. Her destination was unknown, and unclear. She just needed to get away from that room.

Around the table, there was silence. "I hope you're happy." Patrick almost spat the words, standing up and pulling away from the table explosively. "Her one fear... that Tim and Angela won't see her as a real mother, even as she exhausts herself showering them with love. You, who she regarded almost as a mother." He ran from the room. The past tense of regarded escaped no one, least of all Sister Julienne, who regretted her petty outburst, and felt her heart break at the memory of Shelagh's sobs.

Tim stood up next, taking a deep breath and shifting Angela from one arm to the other. "Just so you all know, she is our real mother. We are her real children. And that's for us to judge." As if to back up his point, Angela cried: "Mummy!" He smiled at her, before hurrying out the door.

Patrick found Shelagh curled up on the couch, her hair falling out in strands and sobbing as if her heart would break. Slowly, carefully, he knelt by her side, smoothing the strands of hair away from her face before taking her in his arms, cradling her as he would Angela. There was no need for words; Shelagh felt her husband's love and concern through his shaking hands, his kisses to the top of her head, his thumping pulse. When Tim and Angela arrived, they slotted right in, Tim with his arm around his mother's shoulders, holding her steady, and Angela resting her head on her mother's stomach, patting her baby bump lightly. The only move any of them made was Patrick softly wiping away Shelagh's tears. They had each other.

Sister Julienne was also sobbing, but alone in the chapel. She prayed, prayed for forgiveness for her careless words, prayed for guidance in her loss of Sister Evangelina. She had let her grief and regret get in the way of the happiness of a woman who was very dear to her, and she feared she would never be forgiven. She knelt there alone. No one came running at the sound of _her_ sobs.

Her words, it seemed, it had left their mark on both women.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry the last chapter was so angsty, hopefully all will soon be well... Enjoy!**

The only people left around the table were Sisters Mary Cynthia and Monica Joan, along with all the nurses except Barbara. Phyllis glared at the gap in the table where Sister Julienne had been sitting before she hurriedly excused herself.

"I have a mind to go and tell that woman…" But Delia held up her hand, smiling a smile that placated Phyllis, and quite frankly made Patsy's insides melt a little.

"No. We can all see that Sister Julienne realised she had said the wrong thing."

Sister Mary Cynthia nodded in agreement from her place across from Delia.

"Delia's right," she murmured gently. "Who we need to be concerned about is Shelagh."

Poor Shelagh. Patsy kept on seeing her face when Sister Julienne had spoken, and she realised just how deep Shelagh's fear of not being a good enough mother to Tim and Angela ran. Patsy swallowed, trying to control her anger as Trixie said her piece.

"We don't want to overwhelm her. Besides, she has Dr Turner with her now..."

Patsy stood abruptly, making everyone stare at her. "I'm her midwife. I'll go." Delia offered her a small smile as she grabbed her brown bag and left. The others watched her go quietly.

Checking each room with a characteristic thoroughness, she eventually found the Turner family in the sitting room. They had repositioned themselves slightly; Shelagh was asleep with Patrick's fingers tangled in her unravelling hair and her head on his lap. Tim was leaning against his father's shoulder with a dozing Angela on his knee, and was whispering with Patrick in low tones.

Patsy rapped lightly on the door. "Midwife calling." She felt like she was intruding, like she didn't belong here. But at the sound of her voice Tim smiled hopefully, and Patrick beckoned her in with his free hand. She rushed in, kneeling on the floor so that she was level with Patrick's knees and Shelagh's head. "Is she alright?"

"I think so." Patrick sighed, stroking the top of his wife's head gently. "She exhausted herself with crying."

Patsy swallowed. "I'm sorry." She looked down at Shelagh's pale face which was streaked with tear tracks, her hand which looked so small next to Dr Turner's, and the heart-breaking worry etched on the faces of her family, and decided that Nurse Crane had had the right idea after all.

"It's not your fault Patsy." They all jumped, the familiar Scottish lilt surprising them as Shelagh struggled to sit up. "I'm fine." Though her voice was determined, it was also weak and shaking, and Patsy shared a worried glance with Patrick before bending down and opening her bag.

"That's for me to tell, Shelagh. This seems to have shaken you up." As well it might, she added darkly in her head, before reaching into her bag. Tim got the hint, and left the room with Angela, kissing the top of his mother's head on his way out. Patrick, however, was oblivious.

"Dr Turner... Would you mind stepping out for a moment?" Patsy asked rather pointedly, gesturing with her gloved hands.

"B-but... I'm a doctor!" he cried, causing Shelagh to giggle.

"In here, you're the father. And I would like you to go and be the father out of this room for a moment." Her tone softened. "I'll look after her."

He nodded reluctantly, kissing her forehead lightly before closing the door behind him. Shelagh watched him go, wondering how it was possible to love someone so very very much.

"Is he always that stubborn?" Patsy grinned, as she helped Shelagh lie back on the couch. Shelagh smiled to herself, before nodding. Patsy laughed. "We'll do this quickly as possible."

Lying on the couch, Shelagh found herself thinking of her own mother; a harsh, brutal woman who was always out for herself. She knew she must have had a father, but she never knew him nor heard him mentioned. She could never even be sure her father was the same as her siblings'. They had an education; they were privileged in that respect. But beyond that, and the promise of something compromising food each day, her mother more often than not acted as if she had not had children at all. Shelagh supposed the need of a mother who appreciated her was what drew to her Sister Julienne – and what made the nun's words over lunch so hurtful. She had tried so hard not to resemble her mother in any way towards Tim and Angela – she loved them and cared for them the best she knew how. But when the woman who she drew love and inspiration from dismissed her family as fake and unreal simply because it was unconventional, it opened up old wounds. Old worries. Was she turning out like her mother?

As Patsy finished her examination and helped Shelagh to sit up, her thoughts also turned to Sister Julienne. What on earth had compelled her to say those words to someone she was meant to regard almost as a daughter? Patsy knew that she was still hurting from the loss of Sister Evangelina, but so was everyone else, and her words seemed almost cherry picked to hurt Shelagh, who tried so hard. Sighing, Patsy moved to find Patrick, and rolled her eyes when she saw he was standing about a centimetre from the door. It was sweet, though, that he cared so much. She figured that if neither she nor Phyllis had a sharp word with Sister Julienne, Dr Turner would be more than happy to take up the offer.

"Where are the kids?"

Patrick smiled sheepishly. "Delia offered to take them and find some food. She is very good with them, and now Angela has a new audience to give her little speech about the baby to."

Patsy bit her lip, smiling to herself. It was just like Delia to find a way to help out wherever she could. She let Patrick into the room, feeling almost as if she was intruding as the couple kissed and held onto each other almost as if they were afraid they'd lose each other. Patrick stroked her hair, something Patsy noticed he did a lot.

"It was only five minutes," she teased gently, walking over to them. "Everything seems perfect. As for the incident this morning, you just seem tired, that's all. Shelagh, but the best and only place for you right now is bed. We can get you home, or you can have a sleep in my bed if you like."

Shelagh swallowed nervously, resting her hands on her baby bump as the baby kicked lightly. "But Sister Julienne..."

Patrick put his arm around her. "Is not important right now. We have to look after you and our little dancer. Let's get you home." Shelagh smiled at that, leaning her head against his shoulder. She was a trained midwife; she knew they were both right. She was lucky, really, to have people who cared for her in this way, and she also realised she could have dealt with the situation in the dining room more calmly. But then again, she hadn't felt calm. Not at those words.

Patsy swallowed. She had one more thing to say, and she felt that she would encounter some resistance. "Just to be on the safe side after today, you will need to take a couple of weeks off of work."

Patrick winced. Shelagh took her work very seriously, and he couldn't imagine her taking this quietly. Before she was able to protest, he picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

"I personally will make sure this patient obeys her midwife." He grinned down at her as she groaned weakly, and Patsy laughed.

"I'll leave her in your capable hands Doctor!'


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Slightly happier chapter this time! Please favourite or review if you like it: it means the world. Enjoy!**

"Patrick, remember to see Mrs Parker today; you know she always comes later to the surgery and you sometimes miss her. And make sure Nurse Gilbert takes the blood samples for the Long family down to the London. Oh, and Nurse Crane asked for that box of new equipment from your office that was delivered last week. And…"

This was the third day of Shelagh's break from work, and this was the third morning on which Patrick had been given a list of patients, problems and Poplar addresses along with his breakfast. With nothing to do but play with Angela, worry about Tim, worry about Patrick and tidy, Shelagh wasn't sure how she was going to bear another week. The Turner house had never been cleaner; Shelagh was not one for sitting around idly, even when almost six months pregnant. Patrick rested his hand on hers, causing her to trail off.

"I did manage before you, you know" he teased gently, kissing her forehead.

Tim rolled his eyes from the table, where he was eating his breakfast at a remarkable speed. "Hardly." Although he knew his dad was talking about work, all he could think about was lost buttons and fish and chips. So much fish and chips.

Shelagh smiled wearily. "I'm sorry. I just hate this. Not being allowed to work." She only had one more week left before Patsy had said she could work again for a little bit, although obviously not as much as before, but every minute seemed like an eternity, although she suspected it would feel even longer if she didn't have Angela. Usually, she would have visited Nonnatus House to see her friends, but all she could hear swirling around and around in her head were Sister Julienne's words, and she knew she couldn't face accidentally bumping into her.

She sighed, squeezing her husband's hand.

Patrick, meanwhile, met Tim's gaze, and grinned. Last night, when Shelagh was giving Angela a bath (she insisted on doing it still – "while I can"), Tim had told his father about how Shelagh was missing her friends at Nonnatus, but staying away for fear of Sister Julienne. While his father was wondering how exactly Tim knew that, he had also presented him with a list of which midwives was on duty, on call or had the afternoon off on the next day, as well as an unnervingly accurate timetable of Patrick's upcoming day. There, huddled around the table and accompanied by the splashes coming from the bathroom, the father and son created a plan to cheer Shelagh up while she had to be stuck at home.

"Goodbye darling. Look after our little dancer, and more importantly look after yourself," was all he said out loud. Looking down at her tired face, he hoped what he and Tim had planned would be enough to help her bear being away from work. He bent down and kissed her, and she rested her forehead against his.

Tim groaned. "I am actually eating here!" Shelagh laughed as father and son left the house together.

Later that afternoon, Shelagh was tidying up from lunch, in which Angela had managed to get her food everywhere but in her mouth.

"Twinkle Mummy!" the insatiable little girl cried from her perch by the sink, causing Shelagh to turn around and smile, picking up her daughter. Angela's favourite song changed daily, although luckily they were all still nursery rhymes, which Shelagh knew. Mrs Turner loved her husband and son dearly, but she didn't like their taste in music quite so much. But Twinkle Twinkle Little Star she could do.

Her voice, even on this simple melody, soared as she swayed with Angela on her hip. The toddler clapped her hands, and sung along rather less tunefully. Shelagh was so absorbed in the ongoing duet she didn't hear the front door open; neither did she hear the hushed giggles, the footsteps in the corridor, nor the creak of the kitchen door as it opened slowly.

"Surprise!"

Shelagh whirled around, almost dropping Angela in her utter surprise. Standing in her kitchen, grinning and giggling, were a gaggle of nurses in a mixture of uniforms and casual clothes. Trixie clutched a huge cardboard box, over which Shelagh could barely see her grinning face. Patsy carried a basket containing paper, pens and scissors, Delia cradled a beautiful doll, while a sheepish looking Barbara had a tin under her arm.

"I'm sorry Mrs Turner! I did say we should have warned you, but your husband said it would be fine," Barbara trailed off apologetically, before brandishing the tin. "We did manage to rescue the cake from Sister Monica Joan though."

"Call me Shelagh, please," the woman in question corrected gently, still sounding rather shocked. "Shall I put on the kettle?"

Once tea was given out, everyone was sitting down in the living room, and Angela had been drawn to the lap of "Auntie Delia" by the wonderful dolly, Shelagh had a chance to find out what exactly was going on.

"We're visiting you, silly. A certain Timothy found out you were rather lonely, and that we all, remarkably, had the afternoon off," Trixie explained as she deposited the cardboard box with a huff, making Shelagh what exactly was in there.

Delia looked up from her absorbed talk with Angela about cats, smiling. "It's what friends do. You can't come to us, so we came to you."

Shelagh blushed. She knew all of the girls at Nonnatus got on amazingly well, and they were always sweet when she visited, but she had always assumed they just tolerated her – the doctor's wife, nothing more. Not a part of their close-knit group. Yet as she gazed around the room, she saw faces filled with love, sympathy and excitement, and thanked her lucky stars that she had these wonderful people who stood by her, especially when someone who was meant to support her had left her feeling alone.

Patsy leant forward, her eyes twinkling as she interrupted Shelagh's thoughts. "What shall we do first?"

And so followed an afternoon of cake, laughter and silliness. Angela gave everyone a remarkable performance of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, after the bribery of the doll and a slice of cake. Trixie's box, it turned out, was full of baby and maternity clothes, half of which were rather unsuitable due to their having been handpicked by a certain Sister Monica Joan. These were soon spread all over the floor, a rainbow of shapes, sizes and patterns which Shelagh ended up modelling, while Trixie rated them and Barbara surreptitiously ate more cake than anyone. Delia was having an intense conversation with Angela about baby names, which was both amusing and adorable (Angela so far had suggested her own name about seven times), and Patsy ended up serving as a human clothes hanger upon which Trixie threw any maternity dresses which didn't fit her exacting style. Which was quite a few.

Finally, Trixie had exhausted the box, and Patsy was almost invisible under the mountain of clothes. Barbara had no more cake to eat – Sister Monica Joan, it seemed, had a rival in consumption of sweets. Exhausted but happy, Shelagh gestured to the basket which Patsy had carried in.

"What's that for?"

Patsy threw the mound of unwanted dresses back into the box, and picked up the basket with a flourish. "Baby names," she announced dramatically. At the look of confusion on Shelagh's face, Patsy elaborated on her plan. She would cut the paper into slips. Everyone would take four, and write down two boy's names and two girl's names on them before putting them back in the basket. The first two names for each gender they drew would be the first and middle name for Baby Turner.

Trixie giggled, and Shelagh glared at her, suspecting a plan. "Okay, but this will not be a definite thing. I do not trust Trixie to name my child."

Trixie bit her lip, looking sheepish, before diving for her four slips and a pen, scribbling away. The rest followed suit. Patsy, for her plans for this game, was seeming to have trouble thinking of anything, tapping her pen on the arm of her chair and gazing around the room. Barbara had a Bible open on her lap, and was thumbing through it frantically, causing Trixie, who had finished long before everyone else, to roll her eyes good naturedly. Delia and Angela, meanwhile, were working as a team, though not a particularly unified one, as was evident by Delia's frequent cries of "No Angela, Mummy can't call this baby Angela too! You're her Angela!"

Shelagh was having more trouble with this than she expected to. She knew it was only a game, but she just couldn't think of any name that was suitable. Finally, she filled in her four names, and added her slips of paper to the rest in the basket.

Patsy, the self-proclaimed leader of ceremonies, moved to kneel down in front of Delia and Angela. "Miss Turner, would you care to pick the four pieces of paper?" Angela picked five up, and had to be coaxed by her mother to let go of one of them to put back in the basket. Patsy checked over the remaining four slips quickly.

"And, we do have what the authors of the slips claim to be two boy's and two girl's names." Shelagh groaned and Trixie looked triumphant as Patsy struggled to keep a straight face.

"Boy name number 1: Gabriel." Everyone looked at Barbara, who flushed as she placed the Bible on the arm of the chair.

"I… The angel Gabriel bought good news, and the baby is good news for you. Besides, I thought it would go nicely with Angela – an angel theme?" Barbara looked embarrassed.

"You're taking this far too seriously Barbara," Trixie moaned, but Shelagh was touched. She hadn't known Barbara for long, but that was such a sweet sentiment and meaning. Barbara smiled at her nervously.

Patsy looked perplexed as she read the next paper. "Boy name number 2: Reverend Applebee-Thornton. Who is that?"

Shelagh raised an eyebrow at Trixie – none of the others were even at Nonnatus when the Reverend came to stay, so the culprit had to be Trixie. Trixie tried to look innocent, but failed utterly, and soon she and Shelagh were laughing hysterically at the confusion of the other three.

"Do you remember… the goldfish…" was all Shelagh managed before dissolving into laughter.

Patsy looked disgruntled at being left out from the secret, but managed to bring order with the opening of the first girl name. "Girl name number 1 – Angela."

Delia sighed. "I tried, I really did. But she wouldn't let it go." Angela cooed at the sound of her own name, her blonde curls bounced as she bobbed up and down

Moving quickly on, Patsy opened the last slip, laughing. "Girl name number 2 – Nurse."

Trixie clapped her hands, her face alight. "To give her a head start," was all she could manage before giggling again.

Shelagh laughed, resting her hands on her baby bump. Angela Nurse, or Gabriel Reverend Applebee-Thornton. Somehow, she had a feeling Patrick might have some things to say if they called their child either of those.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Back again! Oh dear, I do seem to enjoy** **embarrassing** **poor Tim. Enjoy!**

Patrick, while all this was going on, was at Nonnatus House. He had popped in on his way home from the surgery to drop off the box of surgical equipment for Nurse Crane, when all he really wanted was to be back with Shelagh, Tim and Angela, and the nurses who's visit he had helped arrange. He wandered the halls, which were strangely quiet with the absence of the nurses and Sister Winifred out on call, and when he called Nurse Crane's name, all he could hear was his own tired voice echoing down the empty corridor. He sighed, resigned to the fact he'd have to leave the box in the kitchen and face the wrath of Phyllis the next day, and took a step through the door. Then he froze.

Sister Julienne. Sitting at the empty table, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

He coughed, and saw her shoulders tense. He opened his mouth to say something about the box of equipment in his arms, but as she looked up slowly and their gazes met, he knew that wasn't why he had made her aware of his presence. The kitchen was shrouded in shadows; there was only one small light on, and the nun looked almost like a ghost waiting there in the darkness.

"Shelagh." The way she said it carried questions, fear, sadness and guilt. Her face was heavily lined, her eyes pools of grief and loneliness.

"She's fine. But you hurt her badly. And she misses you." The angry speech Patrick had had ready to spew forth dissolved in an instant as he saw the change in Sister Julienne, and his heart ached. She needed his wife almost as much as Shelagh needed her. He sat down across from the nun, and listened.

"I didn't mean...I panicked. Everyone was so happy, and I was so sad because of Sister..." She trailed off, swallowing. "I couldn't see how everyone could be so happy at a time when my heart was breaking. And I looked to Sister Bernadette for support." Her voice cracked. "And she wasn't there. Only someone starting a new life, someone I barely knew who didn't need me." Her river of words at last ran dry, and she sat there, staring at her hands.

The two of them sat in silence until Patrick could bear it no longer. "Come and see her."

Sister Julienne looked up, and smiled weakly. "I... I have a feeling she won't want to see me."

"You need to come and see her, before the baby's born. Both of you need that." He pushed his chair back, standing up. The room was dark, and draining, and he just wanted to be back with the woman he loved more than anything in the world. As he reached the door, he ran a hand through his hair and paused. "You need to know; I'm still impossibly mad at you. I'm doing this for Shelagh, because she still loves you and I love her."

Sister Julienne watched his retreating back and let the tears that were pricking at her eyes fall freely. Me too, she thought.

As Patrick opened the door to the flat, he could hear peals of laughter coming from the living room, as he tried to shake away the conversation he had just gone through with Sister Julienne. He tiptoed down the hall and peered round the door, grinning at the scene that met his eyes.

Angela in her sunshiny pinafore was perched on a pile of discarded dresses, looking rather like a little yellow bird in a nest of maternity clothes, while Tim leant on the arm of the couch still in his old school uniform, looking both horrified and amused at the proceedings. His wife was lying on the couch, her feet propped up on a resigned looking Barbara's lap and her face flushed with laughter, while Patsy and Delia had fashioned nurse's hats out of paper and had them perched precariously and wonkily on their heads. Patsy was in the middle of a remarkably accurate impression of Nurse Crane, one hand resting on Shelagh's baby bump and Delia was struggling to keep a straight face as she pretended to be Patsy.

But the crowning glory of this scene was Trixie. She was decked out in one of Patrick's old doctor's coats which Tim had procured from his parent's bedroom, and had a tie draped around her neck that he was sure he had worn only a couple of days ago. She had her back to the door, and was pacing up and down in a remarkable imitation of most father's to be during labour, every so often pretending to run her hand though her hair in a manner not unlike Patrick himself. At one point, she cried out: "But Nurse Crane, I am a doctor! Surely I should be allowed in the room!" in a melodramatic tone, and Patrick had to laugh, revealing his presence.

Tim's eyes widened, Delia's hand flew to her mouth and Patsy flushed bright red, while Shelagh laughed and Angela cried "Daddy!" Barbara watched Trixie intently as she turned to face Dr Turner, painfully aware how obvious it was who Trixie was pretending to be. The doctor in question smiled.

"Hello Nurse Franklin."

Trixie grinned. "Dr Turner, you're just in time to witness the birth of your son, Gabriel Reverend Applebee Thornton."

Everyone burst out laughing as Patrick raised an eyebrow. He decided it was best not to ask. He grabbed the doctor's coat from Trixie and draped it around his own shoulders, stepping towards Shelagh. "Well, if that's the case, I do believe the mother of this unfortunately named child needs the help of a proper doctor."

Trixie put her hand to her heart in mock offence as Barbara and Patrick helped Shelagh sit up. Tim, meanwhile, groaned. He recognised the looks on their faces.

"Look out Angela," he hissed. "Mushy stuff lies ahead." Patsy laughed.

Shelagh blushed at this, while Patrick took it as an invitation to kiss his wife, kneeling down in front of her and cupping her cheek in his palm. The nurses were unsure whether to look away or not; they felt almost as if they were intruding, yet the sheer amount of love was fascinating and oh so lovely. Patsy felt a pang of regret as she watched; she and Delia could never kiss like that, with such freedom and with the knowledge that it was viewed as right. Though, she supposed, there were those – still – who believed this marriage was wrong due to Mrs Turner having once been Sister Bernadette, and she figured Shelagh understood her more than she initially thought.

Shelagh pulled away first, gently and looking rather embarrassed yet deliriously happy. She smiled up at the nurses. "Thank you so much for coming. I've had a wonderful time."

"As have we," put in Trixie, pleased that they had managed to cheer Shelagh up, but aching inside at this picture of happy marriage she might have had not so long ago.

Delia, who was helping Patsy put on her coat, smiled and Barbara bit her lip. "Will we see you at clinic this week?" the young midwife asked hopefully, hoping to get some time with Shelagh.

Patsy smiled. "I'm afraid I've got Mrs Turner scheduled in on my rounds for the next few weeks," she said, sounding rather pleased that she was the chosen one. As the nurses said their goodbyes and were walking out the door, Patsy hissed to Barbara: "Sister Julienne will be there."

Patrick swallowed nervously as the door shut. Sister Julienne. He believed he had a reconciliation to organise, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to it.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm so so sorry. Hopefully, everything will turn out alright... Enjoy!**

Shelagh was on the lookout for Sister Julienne. She had been ever since she returned to work three weeks ago (though what Patrick actually allowed her to undertake could hardly be called work). Ever since Patrick had recounted the conversation in the shadowy kitchen, even. She kept expecting the nun to appear through the door; her husband had painted Sister Julienne's words as apologetic, and desperate for forgiveness and reconciliation. Sighing, she wondered if it was not her who was so very eager to be reunited with Sister Julienne, even as her comments broke her heart anew each time she remembered them.

Bending down to pick up some dropped files, she winced as a dull ache shot up her back. She had been experiencing these for the last couple of days. It wasn't labour: it was too early, and bore really no resemblance to labour even in its early stages. But still, it was rather unusual. She would have to ask Patrick tonight, when he was less busy. As another ache spread across her lower back, she leant against the filing cabinet for support.

"Are you alright? Is your back hurting? Is the baby kicking? Why are you leaning on the cabinet?"

Shelagh smiled, turning around to face Patrick who was standing in the doorway looking panicked. She wouldn't worry him. There was no need to worry him.

"I just needed a breather, that's all. I am seven months pregnant darling. Are you like this with all your patients?"

He moved towards her, laughing and pulling her into his arms gently. "Only my favourite ones." He stepped away, studying her face. "You look tired sweetheart. Go home and rest; Tim will be in on his way home from school soon and he can wash up."

Shelagh swallowed. There was one more job she had to do today. "Patrick, someone needs to drop this box of vials off at Nonnatus by tonight."

Ah. This was the source of worry he had detected in her tone – Nonnatus House held a possible encounter with Sister Julienne. He about to offer to take them for her, but he bit his tongue as he saw determination shining in her eyes. You did not cross Shelagh Turner when she wanted to get something done, he knew from experience, and he could tell she wanted to talk to the nun. So he simply stroked wisps of her hair off of her forehead and pressed a kiss to it, before handing her the box of vials and waving her out of the door.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

"I love you m – oh, you win!"

"Bye!"

Walking through the streets of Poplar, a sharp breeze making her shiver, Shelagh was aware that people were looking at her. She was also aware that most of the stares her way were not full of malice, but simple curiosity at her unmistakable baby bump, and she even received a few shouted congratulations. But all the same, she had never really enjoyed the sensation of being watched.

Behind her, the shrill ring of a bike bell sliced through the air. She turned.

"Patsy!"

The nurse drew her bike to a standstill. "Hello Mrs Turner– why, are you quite alright?"

Shelagh shifted the heavy weight of the box of vials from one hip to another and stared at her, confused.

Patsy smiled slightly. "It's only that you do look awfully pale. Do you have much further to go? I think you should sit down."

She shook her head (Nonnatus House was only round the corner now) and thanked Patsy for her concern, watching her cycle off through the seas of people. That could have been her, she realised: even if she did leave the Order, she could have followed a career in midwifery. But then the baby – her baby - kicked, and she realised she wouldn't trade her life now for the world.

She rounded the corner.

Taking a deep breath, Shelagh pushed open the door to Nonnatus House. She still didn't know whether she even wanted to see Sister Julienne, let alone speak to her. Delia's voice echoed down the corridor as she weaved her way through the empty halls.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her head spun. Behind one eye was a piercing ache she had attempted to ignore on the walk over. Where was Sister Julienne? She couldn't seem to remember where anything was, and she wished her head would stop with all of this dizzying spinning. She needed it to stop. Patsy was right: everything hurt so much...

Sister Mary Cynthia found her. She was crumpled on the floor outside Sister Julienne's office, surrounded by sparking shards of smashed vials, the cardboard box bent out of shape at her feet. Her glasses had slid off of her pale face, and her hair fanned out around her head in a shape rather like a halo. Sister Mary Cynthia dropped to the floor next to the prone Shelagh, concerned but expecting it was nothing more than a fainting episode as she quickly checked her vitals, being not extremely careful. Then, the nun put her hand in something sticky. And rusty red. It was pooled between Shelagh's legs. Sister Mary Cynthia screamed.

"Help! Please…someone, help!"

Sister Julienne's head jerked up from where she was dozing at her table at the scream. Every time she tried to leave to visit Shelagh she didn't have the courage, and yet whenever she attempted to do anything else Shelagh was all she could think about. So she spent her time sleeping. That way, she didn't have to think about anything. Shelagh, Sister Evangelina… The nun moved through the darkened room, quickening with every step as she realised what she had heard. A scream.

On the threshold of her office door she found Sister Mary Cynthia, tears streaked down her face.

"I didn't realise. I wasn't careful enough and now I may have made her worse...Oh Sister, it looks bad…"

Sister Mary Cynthia's words tumbled over each other, so unusual for the usually reserved nun, and Sister Julienne's stomach tightened with fear.

"My child, who are you talking about?"

The young nun moved to Sister Julienne's side, revealing the prone body of Shelagh, and Sister Julienne gasped, dropping to her knees and cradling Shelagh's head. Shelagh. No!

"Call Doctor Turner. Now."

She ran her hands over Shelagh, trying desperately not to move her, and trying desperately not to cry. Her pulse was weakening. The blood leaking from between her legs onto the floor was a dangerous deep red colour. Her face was as white as a sheet, her eyelids fluttering helplessly.

And all Sister Julienne could do was kneel in the splintered glass, stroking Shelagh's hair and regretting every time she hadn't gone to apologise to the woman she now held in her arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm sorry, I know there's far too much dialogue in this, but thank you for all your comments on the previous chapter! Here's another early chapter courtesy of school holidays. Enjoy!**

"Cynth – Sister Mary Cynthia!"

Trixie threw down her bag and rushed to where the young nun was crouched over the telephone, her shoulders shaking. The telephone lay discarded on the table, in the midst of a mess of files and papers.

"He's not picking up. She needs him, and h-he's not picking up…" Sister Mary Cynthia sobbed, and grabbed Trixie's arm for support. Trixie bit her lip, holding on to Sister Mary Cynthia all the while her mind racing.

"Who is it? Who are you trying to call?"

"Dr T-Turner."

Trixie's heart plummeted and she felt sick. Dr Turner. With Sister Mary Cynthia in such a state, something must be dreadfully wrong. She watched as her friend struggled to find the words.

"It's Shelagh."

Oh god. Oh dear god, no. Not Shelagh…

"She… collapsed. I thought she had just fainted. But there's blood… so much blood. And the colour…"

Bleeding. Trixie's hand flew to her mouth. But no – she had to be professional. She must be.

"Is anyone with her?"

"S-Sister Julienne. She's unconscious..." With that, Sister Mary Cynthia broke down completely, her small frame trembling as she reached out blindly for Trixie's hands. Trixie held her, just for a second. They had no time to waste

Trixie reached out for the telephone, punching in the number that she knew so well with shaking hands. As it rang and rang and rang, each ring seeming more piercing and loud than the last, Trixie gently sent Sister Mary Cynthia in search of Phyllis, who would be asleep after a long delivery the night before. Phyllis would look after the nun, Trixie knew, and would be a steady, calm pair of hands to help until Dr Turner arrived. If he ever answered the damn phone, that was. She was on the verge of throwing the phone at the wall when she heard a voice.

"Dr Turner?" She waited, breathlessly.

"Is that Nurse Franklin? Are you alright?"

Trixie took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Timothy.

"H-hello Timothy. Is your dad there?"

She heard the boy pause, thinking. Hurry up, she willed him silently. Hurry up!

"He's with a patient. I can give him a message?"

Trixie swallowed. This was it. "It's your mum, Tim. We need your dad here as fast as he possibly can."

She waited, the silence coming from the end of the line deafening.

"I…I'll get him. Nurse Franklin – will she be okay?"

His voice was shaking, and Trixie wondered whether now was the time for a kind lie, or the honest truth.

"I don't know…" she whispered, flinching at his sharp intake of breath.

"I'll get dad." As he hung up, she threw the phone at the table angrily, staring down at her clenched fists. Professionalism be damned. From what Sister Mary Cynthia had described, this wasn't going to end particularly well.

At the surgery, Tim's heart was racing. Nurse Franklin sounded worried. She was never worried. He ran over, grabbing his dad's bag before pushing through the door of the office. Patrick stood, looking surprised and a little angry.

"Timothy, can you not see I have a patient?"

Tim swallowed nervously. "It's mum."

Trixie found Phyllis already by Shelagh's side when she arrived, breathless from running through the corridors. Sister Julienne was clinging tightly to Shelagh's hand, staring at the ground with a look in her eyes that scared Trixie. Phyllis looked up as she arrived, her face grim, and began to fill Trixie in.

Pulse: steady now, but weak. Blood flow: getting heavier. Baby's heartbeat: faint, but still there. Baby's position: dangerously low. Each word was like a stab to Trixie's heart as she began to gently mop up the blood already spreading across the floor, giving herself something, anything to do other than stare at Shelagh's terrifyingly pale face.

"Will she be okay?" Trixie echoed Tim, her whisper echoing around the hall.

"We need Doctor, and fast," was all Phyllis could reply, her face drawn and anxious.

Suddenly, the door slammed and Patsy's voice was heard in the hall. Phyllis, seeing Trixie's trembling hands and exhausted eyes, instructed her to go and fill Patsy in on what was happening.

Patsy was in the kitchen, humming under her breath as she unpacked her bag. She grinned when she saw Trixie.

"I'm finished for today! And a little girl for Mrs - I say, whatever is the matter?"

And that concern was all it took for Trixie to burst into tears, the effort of being strong for Sister Mary Cynthia having taken its toll. Patsy looked horrified, entreating her into a chair, offering cups of tea, and settling for just stroking her hand gently until Trixie was able to tell the story. However, Patsy's reaction when she did tell her all that had happened surprised Trixie. She looked utterly angry, the look of self-reproach on her face mirroring that of Sister Mary Cynthia earlier.

"I saw her. I thought she looked unwell, but I didn't do anything. For God's sake, I'm her bloody midwife!"

Trixie gazed at her in shock. "Patsy, it isn't your-"

Patsy brushed her off, gathering equipment desperately and haphazardly. "I'm going to help Phyllis." Trixie opened her mouth to warn against it, but Patsy just glared at the floor.

"I'm her bloody _midwife_."

And with that, she swept out of the kitchen, leaving a tear stained Trixie in her wake.

As Patsy rushed out of the kitchen, there was a sudden pounding on the door. It was relentless, making the door shake on its hinges, and it got louder and louder and louder with each knock. Trixie got up slowly, not having the energy to even wipe her eyes, and made her way to the door. As she opened it, Dr Turner practically fell on top of her, his face drawn with panic and fear.

"Where is she? Where is she?!"

Trixie didn't answer, just shut the door behind him and ran, secure in the knowledge that he would be right behind her. Half of Nonnatus House would be with Shelagh at this point, she thought grimly, before thinking that, really, that was exactly what Shelagh deserved.

They reached her, and Patrick dropped to his knees, taking in the scene with horror. He, in a now familiar gesture to the watching midwives, pushed her hair off of her face gently, struggling to stay composed. Phyllis nodded at him, her voice taught with worry.

"Doctor. We need to stop the blood flow immediately – there is only a slight danger to your baby, but a very real danger to your wife. I believe it may have something to do with old scar tissue, and the pressure of baby."

Patrick cursed inwardly.

The TB.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here you go! Thank you all for being so sweet with your comments, and for putting up with my flaky medical knowledge. Enjoy!**

Sister Julienne was in the chapel. She had tried to refuse to let go of Shelagh's hand, or leave her side, but as Dr Turner began to unpack his bag with trembling hands, Phyllis had gently shooed her away to phone for an ambulance. And so she walked to the phone, almost as if in a trance, before she came here. The peace of this place felt almost wrong, a sharp and painful contrast to the turmoil in her mind, the sobs she heard coming from the kitchen as she passed. The blood. So much blood.

She hated herself for leaving Shelagh there alone on the cold floor. She wasn't stupid; she had heard the whispers "TB patient", "tear" and "stitches" passing between the concerned midwives and doctor. She knew what Dr Turner had to do. And she hated herself for being so weak as to leave poor Shelagh to deal with that on her own.

Time passed, what felt like an age. She heard the front door open and close, the rush of many feet, low whispers passing by the door, someone crying… Yet they all sounded distant, as if she were underwater. Her knees ached from kneeling on the floor, but still she prayed and prayed for forgiveness, for Shelagh, for this mess to be over. Then, suddenly, the door opened. Sister Julienne turned sharply.

"Dr Turner."

He lingered on the threshold of the chapel, the light from the corridor spilling around him and into the darkened chapel. There was blood on his shirt, Sister Julienne noted feeling sick, and he looked exhausted. But, as she examined his features, not as worried as he had been when he practically flew to Shelagh's side a couple of hours ago.

"The paramedics arrived. She…" he broke off, collecting himself. "They manged to stop the blood flow. It was old TB scarring that had torn with the pressure of the baby, but it looked much worse than it was and they managed to sew up the tear. She's stable now, thank God. She'll have to have the baby at the hospital so they can keep an eye on her and on the baby, and can't be moved for a couple of weeks but… But she's probably going to be alright." All of this was explained hurriedly, his words tumbling out of his mouth as he stared everywhere but at the nun. His hands, she realised, were still shaking violently.

"I see. I'm very glad she's going to be okay. But why do you come for me?" Unspoken between them hung the memory of that disastrous dinner, and the rift it had caused between them all. "We both know if it were up to you, you would not come to me." Her voice was calm, hiding her inner panic, and its placidity annoyed Patrick.

"Because she bloody asked for you!"

Sister Julienne froze. "S…she's awake?" What took her longer to process was that Shelagh had asked for her. She had thought the two of them would never speak again.

"She woke up for about five minutes. Besides, you've been in here all afternoon Sister," Patrick informed her, somewhat impatiently. "Now please, can we get back to my wife?"

They had moved Shelagh to the couch in the living room. She was covered with Delia's blanket, lay on pillows lent from Barbara and Trixie's beds, and her stained dress had been switched for one of Patsy's very many checked shirts. Everyone was crammed into the room, yet it was quiet. The only two absentees were Delia and Sister Mary Cynthia: Delia had gone to pick up Angela from her nanny, while a shaken Sister Mary Cynthia was asleep in Phyllis' bed. Trixie was stretched out on the rug, her eyes fixed on Shelagh, while Barbara stood at the end of the couch and was gently smoothing out Shelagh's tangled hair. Patsy held her hand, while Sister Winifred was distributing hot drinks among the waiting midwives. Phyllis was sitting on the chair opposite Shelagh, looking tired and worried. Shelagh herself was half-asleep, her face still deathly pale and her hands resting on her baby bump.

Everyone turned as the door opened. Patrick rushed in to the room, kneeling by Shelagh's side and kissing her forehead gently. Patsy moved out of the way, joining Trixie on the floor and holding her (Patsy could tell when Trixie needed someone to be there for her, and now was most definitely one of these times).

Patrick turned to Sister Julienne, who was still lingering uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Sorry Sister, I really don't want to wake …" He was cut off.

"Sister Julienne?"

Everyone froze. The voice was weak but carried so much hope, and they all stared as Shelagh blinked and shifted slightly, wincing. Patsy leapt to her feet to help her, but Patrick held out a hand, and they all watched in breathless silence as he carefully helped her shift to become more comfortable. The love in his eyes as he looked at her was so strong that Sister Julienne took a step back. She shouldn't be here. She should leave. Just as she was turning to go, Shelagh spoke again.

"Sister…please…"

Sister Julienne stepped inside the room slowly, feeling everyone's eyes on her. Patrick shot her a look that was plainly a warning against hurting Shelagh, and took up a protective stance by the opposite end of the couch.

Sister Julienne knelt.

"My dear Shelagh. I… I… I'm so sorry…" And then the tears came, and no more words needed to be said. The nun gently grasped Shelagh's pale hand, making no effort to stop the sobs that were shaking her body.

"I would hug you," she whispered, after a while. "But I'm so, so afraid of breaking you. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Patrick had moved to kneel beside Sister Julienne beside the couch, watching as his wife smiled weakly.

"Patrick, I'm so tired," Shelagh murmured. She flinched slightly in pain before letting her head fall to the side, her eyes closing as Patrick ran his fingers gently through her hair. Everyone watched in silence as she fell asleep, Patrick and Sister Julienne united in their concern for Shelagh.

Sister Julienne knew sleep was the best thing for Shelagh, but she couldn't help imagining that this frail woman who looked so small in Patsy's giant shirt wouldn't wake up once her eyes closed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, turning and falling into Sister Winifred's waiting arms as she wept.

Why had it taken almost losing Shelagh to realise how much she loved her? She hadn't needed Sister Bernadette at all. Just Shelagh Turner.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Looks like things are starting to pick up... Enjoy!**

At last, at long last, it was just Patrick, Tim, Shelagh and Angela in the sitting room of Nonnatus House. The midwives were either eating or out on call, and Tim and Angela had returned with Delia finally. Both Shelagh and Angela were asleep; Angela curled up in her father's lap as he sat in the chair opposite Shelagh. Tim, meanwhile, was sat on the floor at Shelagh's feet, and kept on gazing at her worriedly.

"Is she definitely going to be alright?" He asked for about the tenth time. Patrick leant down and ruffled his hair, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yes, Tim. It'll be fine."

Even as he said this, his insides churned at the thought of those dreadful hours earlier that day. No one had thought to call the ambulance until it was too late for them to wait any longer, and he still wondered how he had managed to do what he had had do without breaking down entirely. But thank God, he could truthfully tell Tim that Shelagh had every chance of recovery.

"Dad?"

Patrick looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Nurse Busby said that Mum wasn't to be moved much for a long time, perhaps until the baby is born, because the pressure of the baby when she was moving around was what caused the tear. Does that mean we have to stay here?"

Patrick nodded, stroking Angela's hair while he explained that the nuns had found rooms for them, and they were welcome to stay as long as they liked. He was going to go back home later that evening to collect food, clothes and other items.

"But I just want to stay with Mum for now." He finished.

Tim nodded, and reached out for Shelagh's hand, leaning his head against the side of the couch. He wanted to stay with her too

The Turner stay at Nonnatus was eventful to say the least. Dr Turner had at least five awkward encounters with midwives who had forgotten there was a man in the house (namely Trixie), while Tim often stayed up far too late interrogating whichever nurse had the evening off on any and every aspect of medicine. Shelagh was mainly confined to bed, after Patrick moved her upstairs on the second night, and though still far from her normal self, she was much more alert and comfortable, to the relief of everyone. Sister Julienne often came in to visit her, the two talking over the missed months and misunderstanding, and Shelagh held the nun as she cried about Sister Evangelina. Angela, however, was the star of the show, with everyone wanting to play with her. Her exhausted parents quite welcomed the free babysitting, and Angela brightened up Nonnatus House with her singing, stories and giggles.

One morning, about a month after the Turner' had been at Nonnatus, Shelagh awoke to a gentle rapping at her door. It swung open to reveal Patsy.

"Patsy! Is everything alright? My check-up isn't until next week..." Shelagh tried to sit up in bed, but moved too quickly and put a hand to her baby bump as she experienced a pain that, while not as bad as previous weeks, was still enough to take her breath away. Patsy moved to her side, helping her, before putting a cup of tea on the bedside table and sitting beside the bed.

"No. You're right, it isn't. I just wanted to bring you some tea, and I thought that you might be a little lonely."

Shelagh smiled. "That's lovely of you. Tell me how you've been. What's going on in Poplar. I feel as though I've missed so much."

And so Patsy regaled her with stories of the clinic, the church, the scout meetings... Her style of narration was rather dramatic, and soon Shelagh was giggling over Mr Hereward's rather unfortunate encounter with a sick child, making Patsy smile. Suddenly, however, she broke off.

"Shelagh... As lovely as this has been, I actually came here for another reason as well."

Shelagh raised an eyebrow, looking surprised, and Patsy swallowed nervously.

"I, er, wanted to apologise. For the other day."

The other day? Shelagh looked confused.

"I shouldn't have just told you to go and have a sit down when I bumped into you – it was serious and I just wrote it off as nothing and-"

Shelagh took hold of her hand, causing her to break off. Was that really what Patsy was worried about?

"Patsy, unless you were able to read minds, there is no way you would have been able to tell that anything out of the ordinary was wrong. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't either."

Patsy offered up a small smile. She had been beating herself up about the encounter in the street for the past couple of weeks, and that image of Shelagh so crumpled and small on the floor wouldn't leave her alone. Every time she saw Shelagh wince doing something so simple as sitting up in bed, she felt a wave of reproach wash over her. But she nodded, as Shelagh watched her reaction intently.

"Now, shall I have a quick look at baby? You are due within the next month after all."

Patsy stood briskly, and Shelagh understood what she was doing. She was using her work as a shield, escaping her feelings behind the shield of professionalism. Shelagh understood that. Once upon a time, she had tried to use her nursing as a way from escaping feelings too, though rather different ones.

She laid back as Patsy ran her hands gently over her baby bump, staring at the ceiling. How weird to think that this was exactly the same ceiling she had stared at all those years ago, before Patrick and the TB, before Angela and Tim. Before Patsy had even come to Nonnatus House. Her thoughts were cut short by a pain down her lower back.

"Ow!"

Patsy froze.

"Is everything okay, Shelagh?"

"Oh yes, just a pain from the ...incident last month. They have been getting worse the past couple of days though, could it be an infection? Should I tell P – Dr Turner?"

Patsy raised an eyebrow, before asking Shelagh to describe the pain. When she had finished, Patsy grinned.

"It's far too early to call Dr Turner just yet."

"What?"

"Your baby may be a little premature, but I believe he or she is starting to make their way into the world. That's what those pains are."

The baby.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the sporadic uploading: exams are upon me, and my life is a little chaotic. Enjoy!**

Patsy sat with her all morning. Usually at this point, the midwife wouldn't even have been called, but this was a high risk case, the baby was early, and it was Shelagh who was, above all her friend. The flying squad had been notified, just in case, but when Barbara was sent to call Patrick, the line was busy.

It was a long morning of waiting. At first, the pains were barely noticeable, no different from the pains she had experienced over the previous evening, and Shelagh only once or twice needed to squeeze Patsy's hand. Sister Monica Joan had bought cake, Barbara and Sister Winifred had popped their heads round the door, and Trixie and Delia had set up camp around the bed, armed with a telephone and comforting words, as well as many, many cups of tea.

Then, just as Tim arrived home from school downstairs, her waters broke. Delia was moved to rubbing Shelagh's back as the pain got worse, while Patsy set to clearing up and getting out equipment.

"Trixie, would you please try to get through to Dr Turner on the telephone? We will need him here."

Trixie nodded, and the room held its breath as she dialled, save from Shelagh moaning softly and Delia whispering to her.

"Dr Turner?"

"Nurse Franklin. Is something the matter?"

"Its your wife..."

"What?!" The panic in his voice was audible and Trixie hurried to explain.

No, no she's fine. Her waters just broke."

"I'll be right there."

The phone at the surgery was slammed down, and Trixie hung up quickly, turning to help Patsy. Shelagh appeared to be in the throes of a contraction, much worse than the morning, and Trixie moved to hold her hand as she hid her face in Delia's shoulder.

As the contraction passed, Patsy moved to sit by Shelagh.

"4 fingers dilated, progressing nicely, and Dr Turner should be here any minute."

Trixie gave Shelagh's hand a supportive squeeze as Patsy gave her report. Shelagh looked exhausted already, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair tumbling messily down her back, and Patsy and Delia exchanged worried glances. This wasn't out of the ordinary for labour, but it was different when it was your friend who was in pain.

Shelagh herself was terrified. She was trying, desperately, to think of things that made her happy. Of Patrick, of Tim, of Angela. She was trying so hard to be brave, but she met Patsy's gaze and her courageous front fell away

"I'm... I'm scared."

Her voice shook, and she grabbed onto Trixie's hand tightly. Patsy reached out and squeezed her other hand lightly, her voice far softer than Trixie had ever heard it.

"We're here. Me, and Trixie and Patsy. And your husband's on his way. We'll look after you."

Suddenly, they heard thundering footsteps on the stairs. A sudden squeeze on Patsy and Trixie's hands indicated another contraction, leaving Delia to slip outside to see who it was.

Of course, it was Patrick, out of breath. His hair was a windswept mess, his tie was askew, and his coat flapped behind him as he bounded up the last few stairs, before catching sight of Delia, who smiled at him.

"They're in there, Doctor. I'll go and keep Tim company."

Patrick nodded absently, moving aside to let her go down the stairs before rushing to the door and running in the room.

"Shelagh!"

Only Patsy looked up. Trixie was whispering comfortingly to his wife, who was breathing heavily, her eyes closed and her hand tightly gripping Trixie's. Patsy moved to his side.

"5cm dilated, and contractions getting closer together. Your baby seems eager to meet us all." In response to his raised eyebrow, she added: "No sign of the scar tissue tearing again, though we will have to be careful, and the flying squad have been notified. I'm afraid it would be foolish to move her to the maternity home now."

He nodded, dropping his bag by the foot of the bed and practically falling into the seat that Patsy had just vacated. Shelagh's contraction, it seemed, was passing, and he gently pulled her into his arms, letting her hold onto his arm for support as she whimpered softly.

"Its alright, darling," he whispered, holding her. "I'm here."

The evening passed. Contractions grew closer together, Shelagh grew more vocal in her distress, as she dilated 6, 7, 8 centimetres. Trixie had to excuse herself under the pretence of boiling water to collect herself: she had forgotten, after Chummy, how hard it was to see your friend in such pain.

Luckily, it seemed that the scar tissue was not going to prove a problem. Patrick had made sure of that, after he had been coaxed to let go of a weak and vulnerable looking Shelagh. He, it seemed, was finding it hard to be Dr Turner, and not simply Shelagh's husband. But, as Patsy reminded him, if he wasn't a doctor he wouldn't be allowed in the room at all. But both of them knew she would never make him leave. They both loved Shelagh too much for that.

Downstairs, Tim, Delia and Angela were in the sitting. Angela was on Delia's lap, singing to her prized dolly, and Tim claimed to be reading. But Delia saw how he hadn't turned a page in the last five minutes, and how he flinched every time they heard a cry from upstairs. She sighed.

"It'll be alright Timothy."

In return, he simply gave her a weak smile. Suddenly, the door to the living room burst open, bringing a gust of cold air swirling in along with the families person.

"Barbara told me. Where's Shelagh? What's going on? Is she alright?"

Standing there, panicked and breathless, was Sister Julienne.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: We're back, from the midst of exams! Thank you for all your lovely comments, they really make my day. Enjoy!**

Delia barely had time to open her mouth to respond before a muffled cry of distress floated down from upstairs, causing Sister Julienne to freeze. Tim slammed his book shut, dropping all pretence of reading, and threw it on the couch. Sister Julienne and Delia shared a worried glance.

"Nurse Busby, I fancy it would be a good idea to take Angela out for a walk, the evening is so nice. I'm sure Timothy would be only too glad to help you," the nun said, feeling for Tim. Her heart too ached with worry for Shelagh. Delia nodded, picking Angela up, and with that confirmation, Sister Julienne hurried to Shelagh's room, following the sounds of the cries. Before opening the door, she paused. Would she be welcome? Although she had reconciled with Shelagh, she could tell Patrick had far from forgiven her, and the rest of the nurses were still rather protective of Shelagh. Her words had not been forgotten, she knew. But Shelagh needed her, and with that thought she pushed the door open, gazing at the scene before her.

Trixie was still holding Shelagh's hand, sitting on a chair by the bed and her eyes never moving from Shelagh's face. She was trying to look confident, but Sister Julienne could plainly see her worry. Shelagh herself looked exhausted, and Sister Julienne longed to run and comfort her, to smooth her hair and whisper soothing words into her ear, or to rush to help Patsy, whose fear was only shown through a slight shaking of her hands as she worked. However, blocking her path into the room was Dr Turner, pacing with his back to the door.

Trixie caught sight of Sister Julienne first, her eyes widening in a telling manner.

"Sister…" she began, before trailing away as Patrick turned slowly to look at the nun. Shelagh's eyes were closed tightly, and Patsy did not look up from her work, so Trixie was the only one to see the looks that passed between them.

Patrick stared at her, with bitterness, shock and uncertainty written in his haggard features. Sister Julienne stared back, willing him to put aside the past for just today, just this moment. Both of them seemed incapable of moving, of saying anything, the tension hanging in the air like a dense fog. Finally, Patrick spoke.

"I think you should leave Sister. We have no need for another midwife, and I'm sure Delia could do with your assistance downstairs." He just about managed to keep his voice steady and his tone neutral, however much he wanted to run back to Shelagh's side and slam the door in the nun's face.

Sister Julienne swallowed. "I'm not here as a midwife. I'm here for Shelagh."

All Patrick could do was repeat, insistently, "I think you should leave."

Then, silence fell again, punctuated only by Shelagh and Patsy calming her. Sister Julienne was not going to leave, and Patrick was not going to move, they were both too stubborn and loved Shelagh too much for that. Suddenly, Patsy whirled around.

"I do not have time for this! Sister, go and hold Shelagh's other hand, she's going to need you. Dr Turner, I need you here now. Unless this petty squabble is worth Shelagh's life, I suggest you come and help me get this baby born." With that, she turned back, eyes flashing as Trixie suppressed a smile, squeezing Shelagh's hand.

Both doctor and nun looked rather stunned at this outburst, but they both hurried to their positions, the tension forgotten for concern over Shelagh. Patsy and Patrick looked at each other.

"This is it," she whispered, grabbing a towel from behind her. Patrick swallowed.

"Now, Shelagh. You've been where I'm standing countless times. I'm pretty sure you know exactly what I'm going to say next." Patsy's voice was soft, gentle. "I need you to push for me."

The fifteen minutes that followed felt like the longest ones of Patrick's life, torn with worry over Shelagh, over the baby, over the fact that if he didn't do his job right then… The last one didn't bear thinking about. All he could do was work with Patsy, trying desperately to hold it together.

"The head's born!" Patsy announced, her voice laden with anticipation.

Shelagh leant her head on Sister Julienne's shoulder. "I… I can't do it anymore…" Her voice was no more than a breathless whisper, and it broke Sister Julienne's heart. Gently, she tilted Shelagh's face up so they were looking into each other's eyes, wiping away the tears of pain than sparkled on her cheeks.

"You can do this. You've done so much, and I'm so so proud." The nun paused, gazing towards the foot of the bed. "Your husband's so proud. And you can do this. One last push, my darling. We're here."

Shelagh nodded shakily, before screwing up her face in concentration or pain, or perhaps both. Sister Julienne's hand was slowly being crushed in her grip, but she couldn't have cared less, instead rubbing circles on Shelagh's back with her free hand, wishing she could take some of the pain. She hoped she had said the right thing. Please God, she had.

Finally, Shelagh slumped back against Sister Julienne, panting and completely spent. The nun held her as the soft mewling of a baby floated through the still air, and Patrick sighed in relief.

"A little girl…" Patsy breathed, passing the squalling bundle to her beaming father, Patsy grinned at Shelagh, wiping away a few very unprofessional tears, before getting back to work waiting for the third stage.

Patrick couldn't tear his eyes away from his daughter's face. He had known the baby was going to be small, as she was premature, but the infant he cradled was possibly the tiniest thing he had ever seen. Her nose was scrunched up adorably, her eyes the same wonderful blue of her mother. He gently stroked a finger across her cheek, marvelling at the smoothness. She was tiny and wonderful and in his eyes, she was perfect.

He moved, walking almost on tiptoe, and sat down in the chair beside the bed which Trixie had run from to tell the rest of Nonnatus the good news. Gently, Sister Julienne propped Shelagh up against Patrick's shoulder. She met Patrick's eyes, and nodded. All was forgiven, and though she was aware it may not be forgotten for a while, that didn't seem to matter now. Blinking back tears, the nun stood; as much as she wanted to stay, the pair deserved this moment by themselves.

"Thank you Sister," Patrick murmured, never taking his eyes off of Shelagh. Sister Julienne nodded, and left the room.

Patrick held his wife in one arm, the baby in his other. The couple looked at each other, and Shelagh gently up to wipe Patrick's cheek, wincing as she did so.

"You're crying," she murmured weakly. Patrick didn't say anything, but simply held her tighter, at a loss for words. Though, really, he didn't need to say anything. Neither of them did. Carefully, oh so carefully, he placed the baby in her arms, watching as their daughter reached up with one tiny, perfect hand, flailing adorably. Shelagh gazed at her, and knew that the pain had all been worth it. Patrick kissed the top of her head, neither of them able to take their eyes off the tiny infant in her arms.

"Hello darling," Shelagh whispered. "I'm your Mummy."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hello! We're almost at the end of this fic now, thank you so much for being so wonderful - reviews are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!**

Half an hour later, all was finished and the room was set to rights by Patsy. Shelagh had fallen asleep, her head resting on Patrick's shoulder, while he held the baby, his gaze moving protectively from his wife to his daughter. Patsy coughed softly, standing at the threshold of the room. Patrick looked up as she whispered.

"I'm all finished, Dr Turner. Is there anything you want me to do? I'm assuming you won't want to leave Shelagh."

He shook his head absently, only half his attention on her words. Then, just as she turned to go, he looked up, smiling tiredly.

"Please, send Timothy up if he's there. And perhaps a mug of tea."

Patsy smiled and nodded, slipping out of the quiet room. She followed the sound of hushed voices, and made her way to the living room, standing at the doorway of the room as they all fell silent.

"How's Shelagh?" Sister Julienne was the first to speak up. She looked exhausted, cradling a cup of tea and staring at Patsy worriedly, while Delia, with a sleeping Angela curled up in her lap, watched her girlfriend proudly as she stroked Angela's hair. Trixie spoke up next, stretched out on the carpet.

"I told them all that it's a girl. But I didn't know…" she trailed off, staring at the floor. Patsy moved and leaned against the wall, grinning.

"She's asleep now, poor thing, but it's nothing that some rest and care won't cure. It's all fine"

The relief that pervaded the room at these words was almost audible. Trixie attempted fiercely to hide the tears that were threatening to spil down her face, while Barbara in the corner energetically hugged a rather shocked Phyllis. Delia met Patsy's gaze, and beamed at her, Patsy smiling back exhaustedly, while Sister Monica Joan immediately set off in search of cake for celebrations, chaperoned by a very happy Sister Winifred.

Patsy moved towards Delia, her words unheard by everyone else.

"Where's Timothy?"

Delia sighed. "On the back steps."

"What? Why is he there?"

Delia held up a book by way of explanation, adding to Patsy's confusion. She explained how the book he had been reading earlier was in fact a journal from Patrick's desk on the dangers of childbirth. Not the best reading material for someone whose mother is in labour. Tim had got really nervous and worried, and refused to leave Nonnatus on a walk with Delia and Angela "in case something goes wrong." But at the same time, he couldn't stand to be inside any longer. So Delia had taken away the book and sent him to sit outside, so he could still be near if anything went wrong but could get some space.

Patsy nodded in understanding. "I'll go and find him."

She slipped through the kitchen, past Sister Monica Joan and about five tins of cake, and hovered by the open back door, watching. Sitting there, his head in his hands, was Timothy. His hair was a mess, but the purple evening light obscured his features from Patsy's view. He had no coat or jacket, and it was absolutely freezing out here. Patsy was about to head back inside to grab him a blanket, when realised no one had probably thought to tell him that it was all over, he still believed Shelagh was in pain and danger, and with that thought she stepped through the door.

He looked up as the warm light spilled across the steps, but said nothing as Patsy made her way down to sit next to him. Then, the words spilled out of his mouth, tumbling over each other as he rushed through his thoughts.

"Is it over? Is Mum okay? She sounded really bad, but I had to be brave because she had to be brave, and then I couldn't take it anymore, and I only took Dad's stupid book to try and understand, you know, but then it all seemed so scary and it was too early, wasn't it, and I don't want to lose another Mum… Is she alright, Nurse Mount? Please tell me she is?"

Finally his words ran dry, and Patsy put an arm around him, pulling him close. They all saw him as almost a grown up now, able to understand and take on the things that they all did. But he was still a boy really. Just a scared boy.

"She's fine Tim. You have another sister."

He stared up at her. "Really? She's alright?"

She nodded, rubbing his shoulder as his body sagged in relief. "Now how about you go and meet her?"

It was only when Patsy was watching Tim knock softly on the door five minutes later that she realised she had forgotten Dr Turner's request for a cup of tea, but somehow she didn't think he would mind. She gave Tim a thumbs up, before heading back to sit with Delia.

Tim, meanwhile, was terrified. For all of Patsy's assurances, he was so scared that Shelagh wasn't okay, that somehow Patsy was wrong. As he heard his dad say "Come in!" he swallowed nervously before pushing open the door.

His mum was asleep. She looked shattered, her face paler than he had ever seen it, and he felt sick. His dad was now perched on the other side of the bed, his face so happy that Tim assured himself everything was fine. Patsy had said everything was fine. The baby, the cause of all of this, was nestled in the crook of Patrick's arm, though all his son could really see from the doorway was a pile of pink blankets.

Slowly, he made his way towards his parents.

"Is she-" he began, but Patrick cut him off gently.

"She's fine. They're both fine. Come here and you can meet your sister."

Tim moved and sat on the bed by Patrick, painstakingly careful not to touch or move Shelagh in any way, just in case. Patrick shifted the blankets slightly so that Tim could see.

She was the smallest baby he thought he had ever seen, utterly dwarfed in her father's arms. She was asleep, but restless, her tiny hands waving and her eyelids fluttering. She looked so much like one of Angela's dolls that it was almost surreal. He smiled, reaching out a finger to stroke one of her waving fists. She was amazing.

He had thought one sister was enough, but sitting there, he wondered how he had ever managed without two.


End file.
